


i won't leave (until we're finished here)

by desiredeffect



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-02
Updated: 2012-10-02
Packaged: 2017-11-15 12:02:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/527098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/desiredeffect/pseuds/desiredeffect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’s been out for days.</p><p>Suns have literally been obliterated in that time, heard it over the newscast all crackly and distorted, but the report wasn’t false. She didn’t even twitch in response as he told her, stayed quiet during the announcement, passive, unresponsive, almost like she was dead if it wasn’t for the reassuringly measured beat of the heart monitor. </p><p>Set pre/during 10x16</p>
            </blockquote>





	i won't leave (until we're finished here)

She’s been out for days.

Suns have literally been obliterated in that time, heard it over the newscast all crackly and distorted, but the report wasn’t false. She didn’t even twitch in response as he told her, stayed quiet during the announcement, passive, unresponsive, almost like she _was_ dead if it wasn’t for the reassuringly measured beat of the heart monitor.

“We don’t know when she’ll wake up,” the medics report in the same status every couple of hours or so,  _nothing’s changed, we’ll let you know when it happens, you should rest_ , but they had learned pretty quickly there was no ‘if’ potential in this situation. Carolina wouldn’t settle for an _‘if’ -_ she was waking up regardless - so it was just a matter of _when_. The snarling probably helped them learning their lesson faster too, and he really shouldn’t be so proud of that momentary fear on their faces.

They’re a team, and they stick together.

The rest of the Freelancers wander into Recovery One periodically, their separate appearances an act of solidarity in some cases, a ' _you got what you fucking deserved for being greedy_ ' in others. South hadn't set foot into the room, content to glare in at Carolina's prone figure from the outside, viciously rolling her bottom lip through her teeth like she did when she was little - a leftover habit from what seems like an age long lost. She stayed there for hours silently, lost in thought or simmering quietly in rage, but then, eventually, she rolled her shoulders.

It was a simple sign but unmistakable. With the short shrug she had relegated Carolina's status back to unimportant. He could tell without asking, he’d never had to, that the position that anything was of less importance comparatively to getting an AI, and he let her go. Watched her as departed without ever uttering a singular word. He’d shaken his head in resignation, a bone-deep weariness for her temper, her need, and her _jealousy,_ and maybe he doesn’t know her as well as he should.

Wyoming had sidled in some time later, as much as someone can with the rough clunk of armour in desperate need of a polish-up. His helmet is casually tucked under one arm, scarred in several new places and a large gouge across the visor, but he looks rattled, _unsettled_ in a way that only another Freelancer would understand.

“No change,” he pre-empts Wyoming’s question, “they thought there was a pick-up in her vitals around three, but they’d dropped fifteen minutes later. And, of course,” he gestures absently toward her, and Wyoming’s nod speaks volumes.

“I do fear for her,” he murmurs in reply, placing his other hand on the helmet, turning to stare at the long scratch, “I know it is irrational in the grand scheme of things, but I do.”

“It’s not irrational,” he retorts, mouth etched into a tight frown, “it’s humanised. We’ve been missing a little bit of humanity lately.”

Wyoming doesn’t immediately answer, contemplating his helmet as though it holds the answers to their plight. In any other situation it actually might have been funny, but as it is, the potential for Carolina to never wake and the compromise of everything they – the _Director_ – had worked for looms large, the calm before a very real electrical shit storm.

It isn’t an enjoyable thing to think about.

“Perhaps,” Wyoming responds, “it is best if you get some rest. We will need it, need _you_.”

He nods shortly, but he isn’t entirely sure whether he’s agreeing to the rest or the requirement for his talents in any official capacity.

He doesn’t really care.

Maine is next. He’s actually permitted into Recovery One, and it must be those goddamn migraines messing with him again. His growl is low, muted, and Sigma provides a burning glow that sparks brightly in a startling dichotomy as the dull snarl continues. Sigma’s presence is unsettling, but he doesn’t flinch at it, not even when Sigma appears in front of him with his head cocked to the side.

Observing him, as one would study a particularly fascinating insect.

“Hello, Agent.” Sigma’s voice is collected, no words spared that might otherwise be saved for some later exchange. “How is Agent Carolina?”

“She’s comatose.” He forcibly makes himself relax, loosening the instinctive edge to grit his teeth. He’d be half an inch away from raising his hackles – if he was a dog. He dutifully repeats the same words from earlier, “There hasn’t been any reported change.”

“That is unfortunate; I was concerned about her welfare after the …incident.”

He doesn’t sound overly worried, the same flat edge of condescension covered by an insincerity further layered with that same perpetual hint of a question. It’s _irritating_ , how Sigma views them as interesting creatures with unfortunate habits, and nothing beyond that.

Maybe it’s not untrue, and that’s all they really are, but at this moment that isn’t the point.

Maine has shifted from his prescribed cot, knocking away hands and taking the unoccupied side of Carolina’s bed. He can’t quite make out Maine’s facial expression.

“We all are,” he responds blandly instead. He tilts his head in the direction of Maine, glancing at the brutish Freelancer with both hands placed over his visor, before looking back at Sigma. “Migraines?”

“ _We_ ,” Sigma says, with a definite undercurrent of amusement, “are dealing with them. Maine finds low-light vision helpful. Recovery One, of course, provides the most opportunity to achieve such vision.”

“Right.” There isn’t anything to say worth more words, and he kind of just wants this conversation to be done with.

“You should rest, Agent.” Sigma states quietly after a drawn out silence, and his outline flares briefly. “You don’t know when your presence will be asked for.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“That would be wise, Agents.”  Sigma winks out of existence without another word. He can’t quite find it in himself to be disappointed at his departure, but it doesn’t stop him from turning around at the sound of a shutting door.

“Hey, man, you look like shit.” Wash hands him a cup of coffee, wisps of steam coalescing and dividing as the cup jerks slightly in his grip. If he's heard any of Sigma's conversation, he doesn't mention it. Wash has a surprisingly good poker face.

“Thanks for the update, I was really missing your insight on my aesthetic status.” He takes a sip of the coffee and blinks heavily. His bones ache with the movement. Maybe he really is getting too old for this shit.

Wash just nods, half a smile on his face. “Don’t bother with the update – I ran into Wyoming and heard all about it.”

“It isn’t great news.”

“But it isn’t bad news, either. It’s just kind of, you know, news.” Wash’s fingers tap a hesitant beat on the side of his own coffee cup.

“That’s …true. Always the optimist, huh?”

“I think between him and –“ _Connie_ , goes the unspoken words, “I think he’s got the pessimism covered enough for everyone.” Wash takes a mouthful of coffee, searching for the words. He doesn't explain who the 'he' is, and there's no need to ask the question.

They watch in silence as Maine stands, one hand still drawn across his visor, and steps back over to the allocated cot. He sits down, motions stiff, before shifting into a lying position. He looks vulnerable.

They all do, these days.

“You should rest,” Wash offers, “I can keep watch on them. Let you know if anything changes.”

It’s a nice offer. And he should take it, he knows he should. But at the same time, he knows that there’s no way he’s going to.

“Thanks, Wash, but I’m fine,” he says instead of _yes_ , and he can hear the sound of another tiny voice berating him inside his head.

“Just don’t put yourself in there _with_ them, North.” He kicks out the edge of a seat. “And if you’re going to be like that, _sit down before you fall down._ ”

North spares him a grateful glance, and drops into the seat. If his back won’t thank him for it hours later, his feet might.

“York’s been here as long as me,” he mutters as an excuse anyway, because he feels like he should.

“York has a reason.” Wash drains his cup of coffee and puts it on the table between them. “You just have the urge to look after everyone.”

North shrugs, doesn’t argue with the truth. He leans back in his chair, feels the crack of bone travel along his spine, and yawns as quietly as he can manage. “You gonna stay for long?”

Wash glances around, as if expecting someone or _something_ to jump out and demand his attention. But when nothing does, he shrugs his shoulders, an exaggerated measure, and slouches further into his chair.

“Sure, as long as you need me too.” He motions a hand toward the room, where York has fallen asleep practically on top of Carolina. “You’re watching out for them, I’m watching out for you.”

“Thanks, Wash.” He listens intently for a moment, before adding, “Theta says thank you too.”

Wash waves a hand carelessly.

“Don’t mention it.”

North can’t help the slight smile that’s threatening to make an appearance. He doesn’t mention it because he won’t have to. Because he gets it. Gets it when he kicks his feet up on the table, when he dozes off, when he wakes up hours later and Wash disappears to get food.

Even when Tex wanders into the room in Wash’s absence.

They’re a team, and they stick together.

No matter what.

**Author's Note:**

> This just kinda spiralled out of control after watching the ep - especially the bit where North comments that York is "dedicated". I kinda like to think North knows that because he's dedicated too - to his team as a whole, and he's kinda been watching them, the same time York's been watching her. 
> 
> I have thoughts but it's past midnight and no one wants to hear about that.


End file.
